


Ephemera

by recrudescence



Category: Stardust
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-15
Updated: 2009-11-15
Packaged: 2017-10-02 20:43:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/recrudescence/pseuds/recrudescence
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Somewhere in the hubbub after the wedding outside Wall, Humphrey was introduced to the older gentleman several seats over.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ephemera

**Author's Note:**

> Written in response to the Porn Battle prompt: night.

Somewhere in the hubbub after the wedding outside Wall, Humphrey was introduced to the older gentleman several seats over.

Faery wine coursed through his veins still; decanters and goblets circulated regularly, borne seemingly by nothing more than the air as often as actual servants. He’d had his wife retire early, not that she had needed any persuading, and been drawn towards the quirk of the older man’s lips, the questioning lilt of his brow. Another of the guests, bald under his hastily tipped cap, and harsh-faced, beckoned him over.

It began with stories—fanciful storybook-spun tales no one in their right mind could possibly believe. Unless, of course, they were attending a wedding reception on the outskirts of Faery.

A captain, that’s what Humphrey was told by the bald man, allegedly the first mate himself: the gentleman who was named for a bard spent his days sailing through the clouds, catching lightning in nets. He listened, lounging in the grass as if he were no better than a shop-boy himself, waistcoat half-undone in the warm, giddy air with a pitcher of wine at his elbow. Trading tales with Shakespeare—_Shakespeare_, of all the…—himself, scarcely noticing as eventually the first mate withdrew.

And Humphrey laughed, felt a hand larger than his own rest warmly on his knee, a brush of whiskers rougher than his own brushing his cheek, the mirthful timbre of the captain’s voice relating some anecdote or other.

This gentleman—the one who, during the ceremony, had winked a glinting eye at him—was kissing him. As chastely as a maid at first, then less so when he put up no resistance. Being borne down into the softness of the grass by those large, urging hands—callused, he noticed in passing, but with neatly manicured nails. Humphrey had found, beginning with the wink, that he was not displeased by the attention. More flattering by far than Victoria pettishly studying the ring on her own finger, a thought that dissipated into a frenzy of sparks and shudders and his own strangled groan as Shakespeare’s own crooked inside his unfastened trousers. And _that_, good _God_…

Suddenly free of his boots, his shirt, his second thoughts: all the trappings suitable for life within Wall flying away as quick as a hummingbird. His limbs sprawled on the captain’s discarded coat, the texture silky and sumptuous against his bare skin; _squirming_. The captain’s mouth against his bared neckchest_mouth_and_oh_, beard scrubbing against his skin in a manner than made him arch up and gasp, tensing all over, most noticeably around the intrusion of that thick, somehow slippery finger.

All the while, sounds of revelry hummed on. “I—“ fingers clutching at both cloth and skin, Humphrey’s gaze frantically skimming the crowd to ensure the reverse had not yet occurred, a pressing thought struggling to voice itself. “They—“

“It’s all right, my boy, no one’s going to see a thing.” Again, that low, amused voice. And again: kissing him, hushing him. “I’ve taken care of everything.”

“Oh, dear God.” Larger than the two fingers being pressed in and withdrawn; could feel the heat and shape of it pushed up against his thigh. His legs were being eased back like he was some fumbling bride, his breath a rush, his whole body feeling flush with the wine and a new, feral boldness like nothing he had ever experienced before.

“Don’t stop that.” Ordering, the way he would an ostler or a kitchen maid. Clearly, this was a different situation. “Forgive me. D—_ah_.” Rockingsurging_writhing_ into the pressure and overwhelming _heat_, crying out into the warm night air.

It ended with stories. Unabashedly unclothed, eyelids heavy, head pillowed on his arms and Shakespeare’s knuckles idly grazing over his spine.

“And in Wall,” Humphrey heard himself murmur, half-asleep, “nobody ever flies anywhere—we’re constantly traveling on foot, horseback or carriage at most, and it takes a terribly long time to reach any destination…”

He awoke in bed, clean and nightshirt-clad, beside Victoria, who dozed on when he started. Nothing amiss but a peculiar ache in his head and muscles, and dirt under his nails.

And, as the day wore on, a strange bitterness at seeing the guard keeping watch at the wall’s gap once more.


End file.
